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I’m kind of in-between places (and gigs) at the moment, but back before this, I used to live across the street from Taylor Swift’s apartment, on Cornelia Street in New York City. I’m not a Taylor Swift fan, but apparently, Taylor lived there for a while, and according to the guy at the pizza place over on Bleeker, she ended up writing a song about the apartment (or the street…?) Anyway, her fans knew where she lived. This was both good and bad. It’s great, if you love groups of giggly young (usually very young; too young, get your mind out of the gutter, reader) girls gathering outside your windows at all hours. Not so great if you’d like to ever open your curtains and let the sun shine in.
I say I used to live there, because I was only staying there while a friend of mine (well, really more someone I knew through someone I knew who… you get the deal), who rented the place, was away for a couple months; and it was my way into New York, the first place I stayed when I got here after leaving Tiboldt’s Circus. It was a kick-ass location – if you ignored the throngs of teenage girls (and sometimes boys) who would stop suddenly in front of my windows so they could giggle and do silent screams as they filmed Tik-Tok videos of themselves in front of Taylor’s former place, which, I admit, seemed very nice, from what I could see of it through her windows. Not that I was looking. Not that she still lived there. Or anything. Because she didn't. I told you that. Keep up, reader.
But back to MY apartment. My apartment was right near Washington Square Park, on a quiet street (well, quiet in the day; at night when the bars opened, it was another story), in a building that actually had a back yardish-terracy thingie – almost unheard of in the City. But the apartment itself was a dump. Dark as hell. Smelled like some combo of garbage and mildew. The one window at the front of the place was too dirty to let in much light, even if any sun had managed to make it past the safety bars that blocked it. And did I mention the place had no furniture? So it was me sleeping on the floor every night, not that THAT was all that new of an experience. The bathroom didn’t even have a sink in it (I bet Taylor’s apartment had a sink), and there was this odd window that opened to nothing, with its glass painted over, high up on one wall (I bet Taylor’s apartment didn’t have a spooky window) – and because it’s on the first floor, I had to keep the curtains closed all the time to avoid Taylor’s fans. Otherwise, myself and my dumpy apartment, with its sinkless bathroom and oddly placed window, would end up on Tik-Tok.
With that said, the neighborhood, I miss. Over the years my friend lived there, he said it had gotten steadily more gentrified (again, that’s both good and bad), and a lot of celebrities have moved in (not in my building, but the neighborhood, yeah.) Since most people’s apartments here are small, people tend to spend a lot of time outdoors when the weather’s good. This being New York, this means that there’s a lot of people. I’ve seen famous actors jogging by, seen them sitting on benches and reading. I kind of miss the interesting-people-including-the-“OMG THAT’S FAMOUS ACTOR X” thing that went on. Not that I was following these celebrities around or anything, it was more the reactions of their fans that I liked, and the crowds and all. The place was great for busking, doing tricks, earning some money, stuff like that there, and if seeing celebrities made the marks a little bit more conducive to my charms… well, anyway, I digress.
I also miss Taylor’s fans. Yeah, I make fun of them, but they were so damn enthusiastic. They make me think about myself at that same age. What I’d been through. Where I was. If my life had been different, would I have travelled all the way to New York from farthest New Jersey (or in my case, Iowa or who the hell knows where) to stand in front of an apartment where a singer I love used to live, so I could take pictures? Maybe. All right, yes. I would have. So I miss their enthusiasm. They were also extremely polite. As I said, they do the “silent scream” thing, where they bring a hand up in front of their mouths as if to muffle a scream, and give out a tiny screamlet, so they are pretty quiet, and kind of adorable. And when I’d see “the scene” where one friend would bring her other friend down the block, stop in front of my place, and then explain who used to live across the street – to see the look of shock and awe that crossed the friend’s face was a hell of a thing. The idea that the biggest thing in your life could be standing in front of some singer’s former apartment – their lives are so different from mine. Not that I mind my life. Not that I’m jealous. Or anything.
You might ask if I ever met Taylor Swift. You might also ask if I’ve ever actually been inside her apartment. You might need to continue asking those questions, ‘cause I’m not telling.